Younger Days
by SybilltheSeer
Summary: Have you ever wondered what Harry's childhood was like? This story is all about things that may have happened during Harry's life with the Dursleys.
1. Chapter 1

**Younger Days**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling. I do not own.**

 **A/N: Hi everyone! As you can see, I finally got around to posting another fic! This just happens to be the first fanfiction I ever wrote (I wrote this even before I started writing** _ **His Mother's Eyes**_ **). Hopefully it's not too cliche - it's basically just my ideas of things that may have happened in Harry's childhood, and possibly in later chapters, my take on things that are actually mentioned in the books. I was feeling inspired, and just started writing. I wrote the first 4 ½ chapters last summer, and I'm hoping to write a little bit more to finish it off. Anyway, here's chapter one. Please enjoy and review!**

It was the day before Christmas. The smell of a feast was wafting from the kitchen, and Harry could smell ham, turkey, potatoes, gravy, and for some odd reason, peppermint humbugs. The smell made his mouth water and his stomach rumble, but he knew that he wasn't even going to be allowed in the kitchen for the Christmas feast. He had worked all day helping Aunt Petunia fix the food, and now she had banished him to his cupboard, telling him to stay there and not bother the guests, who were to be coming any minute now. "Could I at least have some potatoes?" five-year-old Harry had begged when Aunt Petunia ordered him to leave the kitchen.

"No," Aunt Petunia replied stiffly. "You are to go to your cupboard and stay there. I won't have you being in the way of our guests."

"But I won't be any trouble!" Harry persisted. "And I'm really hungry. I haven't eaten anything since breakfast!"

"Well, you'll just have to wait until breakfast in the morning, then, won't you?" Aunt Petunia said distractedly, pulling out stacks of plates and spreading them on the table. Just then the doorbell rang. "Good heavens, they're here already!" she exclaimed, but before running to the door, she turned to Harry. "Go to your cupboard _now_ , and don't come out until the guests have left," she snapped, "or better yet, until morning." Harry hastened to obey.

Harry lay in his cupboard, listening to the happy chattering of the guests in the dining room, and the merry clinks of forks against plates. His heart ached. Why was he denied the simple joy of being happy and well-fed, even at Christmas? He longed to be in there with them, longed to taste the smell of the feast that taunted his growling stomach…..wait. With them? No. He didn't want to be with them; he wanted to feel what they were feeling: the feeling of being surrounded by people who loved you and cared about you; people who listened to you and wanted you to be happy; people who wanted to celebrate Christmas with you. Being with _them_ wouldn't bring him that joy.

Harry looked around his tiny prison. On the floor was a pile of thin blankets that he curled up in every night, and behind him, shelves hung on the wall. They were stacked with odds and ends: old umbrellas, cleaning supplies, old buckets of paint, a broken tennis racket….the cupboard under the stairs was full of things that nobody wanted. But Harry had been given one of the shelves on which to keep everything he owned: some old, oversized hand-me-down clothes from his cousin, Dudley, a pair of shoes three sizes too big for him, some paper and a pencil that he had smuggled into the cupboard when Aunt Petunia wasn't watching, and a broken action figure of Dudley's, that had accidentally been thrown into the cupboard during one of Dudley's tantrums, and that Harry had secretly kept ever since. It seemed that every corner of the cupboard was adorned with a spider's web.

And Harry remembered vividly the overwhelming fear that had gripped him that first night in the cupboard. He had been two years old, and was starting to grow out of the crib that he had slept in ever since coming here to Privet Drive. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had decided that they wanted to give Dudley both the medium sized bedroom and the smallest one; the smallest bedroom would be used to store all of his toys. This meant that Harry would have to share a room with Dudley, which was completely out of the question. And then it came to them: the cupboard under the stairs! This way, Harry would be out of the way if they needed him to be, he wouldn't have to share a room with Dudley, they wouldn't have to give up the guest room for him, and, locked away in the cupboard under the stairs, they could pretend that Harry never existed at all, pretend that he had never been left on their doorstep, a burden that they didn't want to deal with. So, Harry was told that for his third birthday, he would be receiving his very own bedroom.

Harry couldn't wait! The morning of his birthday he bounced around the house, wondering eagerly which bedroom would soon be his. But when he was shown the cupboard under the stairs…..

Harry drew back in fear and despair. He couldn't live in there! It was dark and scary! And….was that a spider?

"Go on Harry. It's bedtime. Don't you want to sleep in your new bedroom?"

Harry shook his head and started to cry, but before he knew it, someone had shoved him into the cupboard and shut the door. Darkness enveloped him, and he cried harder. There were spiders in here, and it was too dark to see them! He crawled slowly into the corner and curled up, too terrified to move…..

Now, two years later, Harry had learned that darkness was nothing to be afraid of, and as for the spiders….well, if he tried not to bother them, they didn't bother him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. I do not own.**

 **A/N: I am SO SORRY for abandoning this fic for so long! I always hate it when authors do that, and here I am doing it myself! :( Anyway, I'm back now, but it might be another long time before I upload again. My schedule is just too crazy this year! But in the meantime, enjoy this chapter. I know it's super short, so if I can, I'll try to get another chapter uploaded before Christmas break is over.**

Harry was excited that tomorrow was Christmas. He remembered that last year he didn't get any presents, but he hoped that this year would be different. He had tried even harder to be good this year, hoping beyond hope that he would get something, anything this year. He also remembered from last year, that along with presents, Dudley had hung a big, red stocking over the fireplace, and on Christmas morning, it was filled to the brim with toys and treats. Harry had watched Dudley pulling the gifts out of the stocking, his heart bursting with jealousy, and yet he was filled with wonder. The stocking had been empty just the night before; and now, in the morning, it was full to the brim with presents and sweets! It was just like magic! So, even though he didn't have a stocking, Harry had a plan to see if this year, the magic would work for him too.

When all the dinner guests had left, Harry waited until he was sure the Dursleys would be asleep. Then he slipped off one of his old, worn socks with a hole on the toe, and crept out of his cupboard, into the living room.

The huge Christmas tree was lit, glowing warmly from hundreds of strung lights. Harry crept to the fireplace, and saw Dudley's big red stocking hanging on a nail above the fireplace, about a foot over his head. And then it hit him. How was he going to hang up his sock without a nail? Despite this dilemma, he reached up, sock in hand, and felt along the rough brick above the fireplace. Suddenly, the sock snagged on a rough edge of a brick, and when Harry let go, it stayed there, hanging above the fireplace, looking small, ragged, and forlorn next to Dudley's handsome red one. But Harry was satisfied, and, after smiling proudly at his little sock that he'd hung all by himself, he crept back to his bed of old blankets in the cupboard under the stairs, and fell into a deep, blissful sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. I do not own.**

Harry woke up early in the morning from the sound of Dudley thumping down the stairs above him. With each footstep, a small cloud of sawdust fell from the underside of the stairs, making Harry cough and sneeze. And then he remembered: it was Christmas! He stumbled out of his cupboard and ran as fast as he could into the living room where, surely, he would find his sock filled with goodies, and maybe even a present or two under the tree.

When he burst into the living room he saw the shining tree, and underneath it, piles and piles of presents that hadn't been there the night before. He looked eagerly around at the fireplace where he had hung his little sock, but to his dismay, it was just as empty and forlorn as it had been the night before. Harry ran to it, pulled it down, and reached his hand inside, only to find nothing, his tiny fingers sticking through the hole in the toe. He looked over at Dudley's much bigger sock. It was filled to the brim with presents and sweets. Severely disappointed, Harry turned to the Christmas tree. But looking closer, he saw that not one present under the tree had his name on it.

Harry turned to go back to his cupboard, trying to hold back the tears that had forced their way into his eyes. As he entered the hallway, he ran into Dudley, who was clearly in a hurry to get to the Christmas tree and rip open his stacks of presents.

"Out of my way!" he demanded, punching Harry in the ribs. Harry slammed into the wall to his right and fell to the floor, the tears now falling down his cheeks. He sat there for a moment, and then, rubbing his side, clambered back onto his feet and ran to the door of his cupboard.

After a few minutes, he heard what could only be Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon coming down the stairs above him. As they passed his cupboard door, on the way to the living room to watch Dudley open his presents no doubt, Harry heard the click of the lock on the outside of the door, and Aunt Petunia whisper, "We don't need the boy out here sniffling, ruining our Duddy's Christmas."

Now he was locked in. Surely the Dursleys would forget about him soon, and then he'd be stuck in here all day with nothing to do….nothing to eat….

He ached from the injustice of it all, and his stomach growled as he remembered that he hadn't had any breakfast, making it a whole day since he'd eaten anything. Curling up in the corner, sobbing, he eventually cried himself into a restless sleep, occasionally waking up to knock on the door hoping someone would hear and remember to let him out.


End file.
